The Hall of the Slain
by Bediz
Summary: Harry decided not to let himself be killed by Voldemort in that clearing, but to fight with all his might. This choice leads him to another version of Heaven than the peaceful realm of those who sacrifice themselves for the good of others...


The Ascend

Harry was walking through the thick underbush and branches that hung low from the old, moss covered trunks. This the ground in this part of the Forbidden Forest probably never saw any sun light. It was hard, walking to his death but he had the silent confidence four people exuded, four dead people he loved the most. Even if he were to die in the next few minutes, he would die a content man; he knew his death would bring about the end of Voldemort's reign eventually. He prepared himself for this eventuality as best as he could. Again, he drew courage from those around him in a deep breath. He was ready to die.

Now he could see light breaking through- camp fires. There were Death Eaters around the pits, some cooking in deep pots, others telling stories of their sickening exploits. Harry ignored them when he saw Voldemort standing in the center. He was about to drop the Resurrection Stone lest Voldemort get his evil hands on such a powerful artifact, but before he could do, he let his eyes wander around the camp and saw Hagrid bound to a tree like an animal, struggling to get himself free of his binds with murder in his eyes. At the very same moment, realization struck and he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt, everybody in Hogwarts would resist Voldemort and they would be butchered like animals. His rational mind gave a logic error at exactly this moment, figuratively speaking, and sparks began to flow off his brain nerves. Now he was every bit as much a furious animal as Hagrid was and he didn't even need the half-giant blood that Hagrid had. He laughed like a mad man.

Harry took off his Invisibility Cloak after his laugh alerted everybody in the camp and stuff it into his Jeans' pocket. He was unconsciously aware that he had signed his death warrant by leaving the only cover he had if he were to enter the huge clearing the camp was set up. He didn't care. He was beyond caring, beyond courage; liquid fire and adrenaline were circulating through his body. He was, in effect, berserk, as was Hagrid upon seeing him if his doubled trashing was any indication.

Harry felt the aura the ghosts exuded change, too. Now they were shouting and shrieking and howling, letting out war cries that raised the heckles on his neck. He felt like letting out one himself and he did; a deep, loud growl that left his throat itching like all hell and he couldn't possibly feel more euphoric for it.

Running through the forest was hard for the first few steps but after he gained some momentum, the underbush and branch alike bowed down to his will and parted in reverence as he passed through. Not even ten seconds, he had broken through the forest into the clearing hosting all of Voldemort's human forces in their disgusting white masks and robes as black as their shrivelled hearts. Everybody had his or her wand trained in his general direction. He didn't let why not every wand was pointed at him make his focus drift off from the fact that he wanted everybody, men, women, even children if there was any to be found, lying on the ground in throes of Death. Onward he charged with all his might.

The first obstacle was, evidenced by the uniform the man wore, a Snatcher. Harry didn't even feel the need to slow down to engage the wide eyed man. He just stabbed his wand hand forward, Malfoy's wand in it, and shouted, "BOMBARDA!" The force of the expulsion spell made the man do a Sommersault in the air. It was quite an impressive sight, too; if he had the time, Harry would have certainly stopped and watched his handiwork. Even then, he watched the spell hit the man in the head, sweep his feet off the ground. Higher and higher the feet went until he was hanging head first, and then a complete round, another half... The man fell on his head as Harry ran by his body. Harry heard the satisfying _crack _and _snap_ of bones breaking, rejoicing in the undescribable feeling of _knowing_ that the man lay broken on the ground never to rise again.

Before he had the chance to engage anybody else, he was stopped by the warmth he felt in his hand. The Resurrection Stone was radiating heat. Another thing that had contributed to his stop was the spells raining down all _around_ him but not directed _at_ him particularly. He turned his head to see the targets and what he saw was a sick sight pulled right out of a fantasy/horror movie; there were hundreds of dead men and women behind him, following his previous example of charging mindlessly into slaughter. For every fallen comrade from the first rank, the one behind him quickened his step to take his place. Harry gave a howl toward the heavens for this unexpected boon and resumed his charge from within the ranks of semi-substantial bodies of warriors. The ones near him reflected his bloodthirsty cry and very soon hundreds of vengeful spirits were howling their endless wrath at the enemy. Harry felt like he was a member of a pack of dogs who were inflaming each other into a mindless frenzy including, as he had half a mind to notice, Hagrid who had joined them in their ghastly chorus. Soon there was nothing but growls on his tongue and murder on his mind.

Harry ran as he relished in the idea that he was not going to fight his final battle alone, nor would his blood be the only one to give the grass underneath life.

When the woman in front of him began to run faster to close the gap in the first rank, Harry matched her step for step. Soon she too had fallen and Harry himself took the first seat for the firework that was the spells coming toward them. The enemy had organized themselves into a defensive, two rank deep line after the initial blitzkreig. All the Snatchers had met their demise but the actual vanguard, the Death Eaters were giving no quarter to the dead army who were armed only with their darkened swords and maces and axes. Chainmail, even platemail was no match for the spells that crushed the mass of people around him.

Harry tried to answer the onslaught with magic of his own but one spellcaster was woefully insufficient. Then he heard Hagrid's booming shout again. His instincts –his inner warrior, if you will, contributed by generation upon generation through the process of the survival of the fittest- was telling him to release what amounted to a King Tiger in the Magical world. Seeing that the odd spell he managed to send as he ran was being countered or shielded against far too easily, he seized the chance to create some diversion. Hagrid's position, the close proximity he had with the Death Eaters- gave the half giant the perfect opportunity to bash a few skulls in as the black robed men and woman had their sole foci on the advancing army.

The charge had lost its momentum as the numbers behind it had dwindled to one tenth of its previous manpower. The Resurrection Stone had lost its warmth, too, so Harry expected no cavalry accompanied by a thundering horn swoop in to save the day. Harry fell back and let the twenty or thirty remaining spirits hide his move, and then he pointed his wand at the chains that was holding captive the first friend he had ever had. _Sectumsempra! _and the whole chain fell apart; each loop around had split and there was a very deep gash on the trunk of the tree. If he had cast this spell on a person with this much power behind it, the recepient would not live long enough to comprehend what had happened to him and Harry was fully aware of that.

Harry resumed his charge while Hagrid staggered to the ground, regained his footing and gave a thunderous roar that transcended human limitations. The dead somehow knew that that had gained an invaluable ally with the half giant and this agitated their feverish desire for blood and gore to insane magnitudes. Harry wasn't far behind them as far as his sanity, or lack of it thereof, was concerned. In short order, five ghosts and a wizard broke through the formation of fifteen to twenty Death Eaters while a half giant attacked from the right flank. Harry didn't slow down even though he saw the gosts engage the Death Eaters; he only cast another _Sectumsempra!_ when he glimpsed a platinum blond hair under the heavy, black hood and the bone white mask. Be it Lucius, Narcissa or Draco Malfoy, the world was rid of one profane entity in an explosion of blood that sprayed Harry in the face, neck and robe. Harry tasted the blood on his lips involuntarily when he ran his tongue on his dry lips. 'One sick fuck at a time,' Harry whispered mentally, 'one at a time.'

After that, he was through the wall of Death Eater formation and was on his way to Voldemort hiding behind his men upon a low hill. Harry slowed down to a walk and climbed the hill nary a reluctant thought, or a thought of any kind. Now he had his savage frenzy and frankly –he ran his tongue on the lips that still had some blood,- he needed no more at this particular moment.

The distance between the line of defense and Voldemort was about twenty yards, half of which Harry had already covered but Voldemort was standing stock-still with his sight over Harry and toward the fight that must be raging on if Hagrid's continual roars were any indication. Seven yards, Voldemort faced Harry with venom in his red eyes. Five yards and the Darklord made to give a villain's speech of some sort, "Harry Potter, I thought-"

Harry didn't care what he thought, or if he was even capable of thought. "REDUCTO!" he bellowed at the top of his longues as soon as his wand was targeting the monster before him, and was awarded an almost dismissive 'Avada Kedavra' within almost an instant from his spell. He smiled as the green light lazily flew towards him because the spell had hit darkest wizard of the century in the guts and the said dark wizard had toppled over in a heap of boneless mass.

When the green light touched his chest, he expected darkness, maybe a light somewhere into this darkness or a gateway, a portal of sorts. He was disappointed when he saw his body lying on the ground and himself standing over his own body. There was an addition on the battleground, though, or over it to be more precise, that he had not noticed arriving before. A beautiful woman on a flying horse with bulging muscles had entered the clearing at some point and now was riding the horse in the air toward him. Harry watched her get closer and closer, trying very hard not to look at the one bared breast or the lowered spear with a seemingly very sharp tip. Her cloak, for example, was an okay thing to notice, or the golden helmet with the half folded wings whose tips pointed toward her back. She raised the spear when she was five or so yards away and stopped before him.

Such a visage the woman bore that all the fury Harry had been feeling left him within a heartbeat. Blood rushed into his brains in the next heartbeat, it seemed and the third made his cheeks feel very hot. The woman could be described as 'scorching hot' and even that would be doing the woman a gross injustice; her ageless and statuesque beauty far transcanded the realm of mere mortals. She could be the creation of only a perfectionist and libido ridden god.

Now the woman was talking in a language utterly foreign to his ears except the word 'come,' or something very close to it. "Come where?" Harry asked, "Where will you take me?"

Upon witnessing his confusion, the beautiful equestrian began gesturing with her hand in the universal sign of beckoning and then proceeded to hold it out for him to take.

Harry approached the woman cautiously, very aware of the boar spear the woman had in her grasp. When the woman actually smiled at him, he let all the caution go and grasped the proffered hand in his and was promptly sat on the saddle behind her. He rubbed the wrist the woman had used to hoist him up on the saddle; her grip was much stronger than one would expect from her lean form. He could not keep at it as the horse took off again in an up and down motion which turned into back and forth as the horse gained speed to begin its ascend. Why it had to have a rocking motion while flying in the air was beyond Harry, but regardless, he had to wrap his arms around the woman's waist lest he fall off and plummet to his whatever notion of afterlife there might be after the afterlife.

Harry was finally at peace. Well, there was a small problem at the moment which was getting bigger as the back and forth motion of the horse continued and underneath his hands, the woman's muscles kept tightening and loosening synchronically. No matter, he could deal with that problem later; for now, he was going to enjoy this version of heaven as long as it lasted.


End file.
